


Or by a cyder-press, with patient look

by ignipes



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-05
Updated: 2006-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-03 00:46:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignipes/pseuds/ignipes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Here we lived and fed... not minding the little space, trod on each other like birds in a hole, elbowed our ways without spite, all talking at once or silent at once... but never I think feeling overcrowded, being as separate as notes in a scale." - Laurie Lee, <i>Cider with Rosie</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Or by a cyder-press, with patient look

The old witch gives them a jug of cider and a toothless smile as they leave.

"It's not funny," Sirius snaps as the cottage door closes.

"I didn't say anything."

"You're going to," Sirius replies, with absolute certainty. He feels Remus glance at him, and he doesn't need to turn his head to know that Remus is smiling in amusement "I can hear you thinking."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"She's a lonely old witch." Sirius kicks at the crunching orange and yellow leaves scattered over the path and shoves his hands into his pocket. They stayed much later than he intended, and the evening air is crisp, full of the scent of apples and wood-smoke. "She doesn't even know who she's talking to half the time."

"I understand perfectly. She thinks you're her dead lover, the dashing buccaneer returned to her after years at sea."

"Now you're making fun of me."

"I'm not--"

Sirius stops. "Nobody in Hogsmeade even remembers that she lives out here." He knows that his anger is silly, inexplicable, but he doesn't try to hide it. "Everybody she knows is dead."

Remus takes a few more steps, then turns slowly. He doesn't look directly at Sirius, but over his shoulder, his expression so solemn that after a moment Sirius turns to see what he's staring at. There's nothing there except the neat rows of feral orchard trees surrounding the old woman's home. Rough stone walls and thatched roof, yellow candlelight through the panes and a curl of smoke rising from the crooked chimney: the cottage looks small and forgettable, an shadow of a memory in the cold twilight.

Sirius begins, "I only mean--"

"I'm not making fun of you, you plank." Remus looks at Sirius directly, and the smile returns to his face. He shifts the jug of cider under his arm, tosses the end of his red and gold scarf over his shoulder, holds out his hand. "We better hurry. Spicy pumpkin soup for dinner tonight, and you know that James is going to try to eat it all."

"Oh, Merlin," Sirius groans. "Do you think we can trick the second years into letting him use their toilet again?"

"If trickery doesn't work, we can always try threats."

With a laugh, Sirius steps forward to take Remus' hand. He doesn't look back as they walk to the road. He feels the orchard closing behind them -- barren branches and rotting fruit, forgotten paths and sweet cider -- and he wonders if the old woman will still be waiting next year, when autumn comes again.


End file.
